Lost and Found
by deanwinchesterspubes
Summary: Years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is left in a coma at St. Mungo's Hospital. Draco, trying to redeem himself for the acts he had commited earlier in life, is working as a Healer there. What happens when Hermione wakes up with no recollection of anyone she ever knew? Rated M for later chapters.
1. Come And Find Me

It had been a number of years since the battle at Hogwarts, yet to this young man, the memories were still oh, so vivid. Behind his closed eyes, he sometimes saw bodies dropping to the floor like flies, saw flashes of green light, heard the screams of adults and teenagers echo in his ears.

To be exact, it had been five years since. He was twenty two years of age.

The summer after the Battle, he had received an owl in August, stating that he was allowed re-entry to Hogwarts to finish his seventh-year term. After long discussions with his parents – those of which had consisted a fair bit about his future – he went back to school. The year had passed by fairly quickly, and he had gotten some of the top marks for his N.E.W.T.s at Hogwarts that year.

Four years since then, and all he was doing was living in London and working at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries as a Healer. He had figured that if he had caused so much misery for others in his teenage years, he should make up for it by helping as many people as he could now.

He didn't know what had happened to those that he had gone to school with. After Crabbe's death, Goyle had cut off contact with him, either too wrapped in grief to bear seeing his friend, or because he thought that he didn't care about Crabbe's death. And to those he bullied, god only knew what was happening to them now. He knew vaguely that Potter and the Weasley girl were engaged, but of the others, he knew nothing. The Daily Prophet never said much about any of them. He couldn't imagine that Weasley and the Mudblood still had a relationship, though. A famous couple like that - well, their engagement would certainly be in the papers, just like Potter's.

He couldn't believe that he was old enough to have people his age preparing to be married. It felt like only yesterday that he was sitting in Professor Snape's classroom with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson, making fun of Neville Longbottom and his potion catastrophes.

Remembering a particularly hilarious moment, Draco Malfoy laughed out loud in his small flat. The sound echoed dully through the house. The man adjusted his robes, and looked at himself in the mirror.

His pointed face had filled a bit, his jaw stronger. He let his hair hang loosely now, his bangs sometimes falling into his steel grey eyes. His gaze flickered to his own eyes, and all he could see was the ghosts of his past: the lives he had taken, the monstrosities he had seen.

He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of memories resurfacing, and in the mirror, his Adam's apple bobbed prominently.

With one last glance at his appearance, the man turned on the spot and disappeared with a loud _pop, _only to reappear in an alley way just outside of St. Mungo's Hospital.

The fair-haired man stepped out of the alley and in front of the ugly red-brick building called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The sign was fading drastically, the letters almost completely illegible, colour drained from them by the sun and the hard rain. Draco walked up to the dummy shop window, not even glancing at the other displays, and knocked on the glass with his knuckles.

"I'm here for work," he muttered.

The dummy's lopsided mouth opened. "Bit slow this morning, aren't you? Couldn't have apparated right into the building?" It was a bossy voice, one that made the man think of the current Hogwarts headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.

"Whatever," Draco said testily, annoyed that the dummy had the audacity to talk back to him. Without another thought, the Healer stepped right through the glass and emerged on the other side, now facing the simple reception area of St. Mungo's.

His eyes flickered to the front desk where the WelcomeWitch always sat, and what he saw made him swear under his breath. A pretty redheaded girl sat there, talking to a man with a miniature second head growing out of his exposed shoulder.

That was the WelcomeWitch that had become obsessed with him after a very drunken one night stand. Thankfully for Draco, she was too busy helping the man to notice him slip past her and into the Healers office.

The office was more of a common room for the Healers; it was where they went on their breaks and such. The only person in the room at the moment other than Draco, was the Head Healer. He was a beefy man, with bushy grey eyebrows and and thin-set mouth, giving him the appearance of someone very strict. But if you looked closer, you'd see the immense laugh lines coating his visage, and once he spoke, it was obvious he didn't have a nasty bone in his body.

"Good morning Draco," he smiled at the blond, and poured himself another glass of pumpkin juice.

"Morning Cornelius," the younger replied, staying awkwardly by the door. He had just come into the room to avoid the WelcomeWitch, and his shift started in five minutes on the first floor with the creature-induced injuries.

Cornelius busied himself with some papers on his desk, before letting out a gasp and looking up at Draco with relief.

"Oh thank Merlin I remembered!" he exclaimed, causing Malfoy to jump slightly. "You're working in Spell Damage today, seeing as Christina's called in sick with some sort of Muggle flu."

"I've never worked in Spell Damage before though..." he countered hesitantly. He would make a complete fool of himself for sure. For the past four years, he had been learning the ropes of healing on the first floor, and they expected him to go to the fourth floor _already?_

Cornelius waved his comment away. "Nonsense. Anyway, there's always a first time for everything. It might as well be today."

With a small sigh, Draco left the room and went to the nearest staircase without passing through reception, and he began the four-story climb with a heavy heart.

x x x x

On the fourth floor landing, a Healer by the name of Wendella came out of her tiny cubicle office (one was stationed on each floor) and greeted him. She smiled and held out her hand, which he gratefully shook. _'At least I won't have to work with a bitch,'_ he thought.

"So," Wendella began. "I know that this is your first time on a different floor, so I'm starting you off easily. Today you'll just take care of the indisposed patients, in one of the closed wards. Perhaps the Janus Thickey Ward will do well for you."

The pair of them made their way down a bright corridor, and stopped outside the properly marked door. Wendella pulled out her wand and with a quick whisper of _"Alohomora"_, the door clicked happily, waiting to be pushed open.

As Wendella opened the door, she continued to speak to Draco. "We've got three in this ward - used to be four, though. Do you ever recall a Gilderoy Lockhart? He was mighty famous a few years back, and he taught at Hogwarts for a year. Well, the poor chap, he came down with Dragon Pox. Had to move him down to the second floor. He died there a few months back." Wendella sighed deeply, and repositioned her hat. "Mighty shame... He was such a sweetheart.

"Anyhoo, right now we've got three, like I said earlier. An older married couple, who had been tortured to insanity back when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named first rose to power. They're harmless, really. They like to come up to you and pat your head or steal your hat, or they'll grunt a bit. That's it, though. Typically when they grunt, it means they need to go to the bathroom.

"And our third occupant is a war heroine, from that awful Battle of Hogwarts a couple of years ago. About a month after You-Know-Who was killed, she simply collapsed and hasn't woken up since. Dunno what's wrong with her."

Draco wasn't listening anymore. He could only hear chaos around him. Bodies littered the floor, and there was blood drenching his robes, making the skin underneath chafe as he moved. An unmasked Death Eater, MacNair, came into his view, battling with Potter's ginger girlfriend. As if on its own accord, his wand raised to chest height and he shouted the Killing Curse and directed the jet of green light straight at the Death Eater, who crumpled to the floor. The Weasley girl looked around frantically for her savior, but her eyes passed straight by Malfoy, not giving him a second thought.

With a hard blink, he was standing in St. Mungo's again, but now with a pounding headache. Wendella hadn't seemed to notice his dazed reverie, and now led him to see the patients.

The two insane patients had dead, white hair that stood on end. For the moment, they were both fast asleep, but the deep circles under their eyes were still prominent. Draco felt a pang of sympathy for the pair of them.

Wendella led him to the farthest end of the ward, to the bed right by the large window.

In the bed was arguably the most beautiful woman Draco had ever seen. She had long brown hair that fell on her pillow in thousands of small curls. Her skin looked to be porcelain, and the girl's frame looked slender but strong under the hospital sheets. Her face was serene, and if the man didn't know any better, he would have just assumed that the woman was simply asleep.

But there was something familiar about her that Draco couldn't quite place. He took a few steps toward her, conscious of Wendella watching him. His steel grey eyes stared intently at the girl's face, forcing his mind to remember who she was. After a moment...

His jaw dropped in shock. His eyes widened, and he tried to rid himself of the thoughts he had had about her only moments before. It was impossible. How could this be her? She had been so _frumpy_ and unappealing in their school years. What in the hell had happened?

It was Granger.


	2. Dreaming Out Loud

**_Alright so I've gotten re-obsessed with writing fanfics. I'm not sure if this is a good, or a bad thing. I've already got chapter three written up, but I'm deliberating on whether or not I want to post it tonight, or wait another few days. As well, I'm not sure if this 'posting after a few days' thing is going to keep up, but let's keep our fingers crossed that it does :) Enjoy y'all._**

She could still think, could still feel. But she was immobile, and couldn't move any part of her body, no matter how hard she tried. And try she did. Ever since this had happened to her, she could only remember, and was never able to see what was happening around her in the present. She was only reliving bits and pieces of her life, over and over again. It was bloody annoying.

_She was fourteen years old again. Hermione stood behind a large rose hedge, and it blocked most of the lights that emanated from the fairy lights. The darkness was comforting though, and she couldn't help but smile gently. A part of her was nervous, and she couldn't help but wish she was sitting on the edge of the lavish fountain instead of tucked away into this corner._

_She wasn't alone, of course. Her date was there with her, and he had taken her smaller hands into his, which were incredibly warm and rough. _'Probably from all the Quidditch he plays,'_ she thought._

_"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor mumbled, bringing his chocolate brown eyes to meet hers. "I haff never felt dis vay about a girl before."_

_A blush rose to her cheeks, but it was now Hermione's lips that Viktor was gazing at, rather than her eyes. Because of this, he did not manage to see her face redden._

_The Bulgarian pulled her closer until their chests touched, and then he bent down and slowly - giving her plenty of time to stop him - captured her lips with his._

_It was her first kiss, but she found it all quite easy, even though she had made a fun of the entire event for plenty of years as she would gossip with the girls she shared a dormitory with. After a moment, when Hermione had responded by lightly opening her mouth to his, that was when he pulled back._

_He wrapped his arms around her, one hand on the small of her back, the other to tangle itself in her hair, which had come undone while they danced in the Great Hall. She responded by putting her hands on either of his shoulders, and she let her fingers tickle the nape of his neck._

_She kissed him this time, lightly. But the man's instincts kicked in, and he couldn't contain himself from deepening the kiss, carnal instincts kicking in. The hand that wasn't tangled in her hair was reaching toward her chest..._

x x x x

_Now she was eleven, heart beating erratically in her chest as adrenaline coursed through her veins._

_Professor McGonagall stood on the topmost step of the Great Hall, facing the students. The woman cleared her throat, and her strict voice rang throughout the hall._

_"Granger, Hermione."_

_The girl's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she felt the overwhelming urge to run from the hall and straight back to her parents in London. Once that moment had passed however, she stuck out her chin and walked forward, sat on the three-legged stool, and placed the Sorting Hat atop of her mane of bushy brown hair._

_"Oooohhh my, we do have a gifted student here," a voice whispered into her ears. It felt as if the voice came from directly inside her own head. "Got quite a capacity for knowledge, girl. I think Ravenclaw would be quite a good spot for you... Oh. What's this? You've got a fair bit of daring, and courage. That changes things quite a bit. You'd better be a GRYFFINDOR."_

_Hermione yanked the hat off of her head with a huge smile spreading across her face, and she went over to join her house. Before she could step down from the platform though, she caught the unhappy face of Ron Weasley, who didn't seem at all please with the Sorting Hat's latest decision..._

x x x x

_She was eleven years old, and it was the summer before her twelfth birthday. It was a regular day in her house: she had taken a bath right before bed the night before and had woken up to her hair smelling of fresh lemons. It was her favourite scent._

_Hermione sat at the dining room table, eating a bowl of non-sugary cereal, thoughts buzzing through her head. With her spoon stuck in her mouth, she reached her hands up to her head and attempted to comb her fingers through her bush locks._

Will my hair ever be flat?_ she thought miserably, lowering her arms and resuming eating._

_It was quite early, but her mother and father were already up and awake; they were watching the news on the telly in the other room._

_Out of the blue, the door bell rang. Hermione was going through a phase of wanting to do everything before her parents, especially open the front door, and answer the telephone. So she jumped from the dining room table and ran to the front door, turning the handle just as her parents came out from the living room._

_An oddly-dressed man stood at the door, wearing red and green tartan pants, a flower printed halter top, and he was wearing swimming flippers on his large feet. In his hands he held a thick yellowing envelope. Despite his strange appearance, he smiled brightly at Hermione. Her parents walked forward and each of them place a protective hand on either of their daughter's shoulders._

_"Hello there Granger family." he said, oblivious to the tense air that the parents had cast. "My name is Jiminey Lons. I'm here to give you this - " he handed Hermione the envelope, " - and answer any questions you have."_

_He let himself into the house and pulled out a long wooden stick, and as he saw the young girl eyeing it curiously, Himiney gave her a small wink..._

x x x x

_It was a new memory now, though. With all the other memories she had re-lived, this one she couldn't remember._

_Hermione was in an unfamiliar room, and had thin white sheets covering her body. A large window was on her side, bringing in sunlight and showering her skin with its golden glory. All she could smell was a cross between fresh lemons and Muggle antiseptic._

_A man stood incredibly near her, his face not too far from hers. The pointed face... blond hair... steel grey eyes... It was Draco Malfoy. If the woman could have gasped, she would have._

_This didn't feel like a memory, though. It felt like reality, but Hermione knew how impossible that was, given her state of being. But - but it felt like this was happening to her right in the present._

_Hermione watched Malfoy turn to a witch in the room. "That was a girl I went to school with. Hermione Granger, correct?"_

_The witch nodded and looked over at Hermione. "Five years with no movement. It's my belief though, that her brain's still working perfectly. There isn't any test I've done that says the opposite."_

_Malfoy turned back to the brunette and reached over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear..._

x x x x

Draco heaved a sigh, and took his hand away from Granger's calm face. He hadn't been able to help himself from touching her somehow; he had to let himself know that she was real, that this was actually happening. No wonder he hadn't seen any engagement piece in the _Prophet_ about the Weasel and the Mudblood, she had been stuck in a hospital bed the whole time...

Just as Wndella was going to lead Draco away from the young patient, a small movement caught both of the Healer's eyes: Hermione's left hand twitched. Her index finger tapped on the mattress four times before she went still once more.


	3. Some Nights I Call It a Draw

Wendella let out a loud yelp of surprise at the now immobile girl's sudden movement. Draco's eyes were wide with shock, and he backed away quickly to let Wendella nearer to her patient. It wasn't like he had any clue what to do in a situation such as this. He gripped the post at the foot of the bench so tightly that his knuckles went white.

He watched as Wendella mumbled many insanely complex spells, most of which he couldn't understand. A shimmery pale blue fog encased the Mudblood's head as the Healer continued to cast her charms and spells to re-evaluate the girl. He was so intent on watching Wendella work, that he barely noticed anything else going on in the ward.

Someone poked him hard in the arm, and he turned to see the insane woman smiling at him. Her smile was eerie though, and it looked slack and tired on her face. Standing up, her hair stuck out in all directions, and the underneath of her eyes were even more purple than when she had been sleeping.

She had donned a nametag, and it hung from her neck on a chain. It read: 'Hello, my name is Alice Longbottom. If found, return me to Janus Thickey Ward.'

Alice Longbottom's husband was now clambering noisily out of his bed, and he walked over to the pair of them, coming to a stop right beside his wife. He had a nametag as well, the only difference between the two being that his name was Frank Longbottom. The frown on Malfoy's face became terrible severe and apparent. The Longbottoms were...insane?

He remembered Neville Longbottom, always the Gryffindor dunderhead. That boy was hopeless in every subject except Herbology where, Draco recalled, he had even beaten Granger on answering some of Professor Sprout's questions. The blond man thought back to the countless times he had mocked Neville for growing up with his grandmother, and he couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for that idiot. The difference between Neville and Potter, whose parents were dead, was that Potter asked for it, always seeking attention.

With difficulty, Malfoy pulled himself away from his thoughts and began to gently lead the Longbottom couple back to their beds, even though they had both begun to grunt incessantly.

_'Great,'_ he thought miserably.

x x x x

Hours later, Draco left the Janus Thickey Ward, secretly hoping that he would never have to return there until they at least had new patients.

Wendella had finished examining the Mudblood about an hour after her sudden movement, with a befuddled look on her face. "She's no different than she was yesterday. Five years of nothing, no movement, and you show up and bam! she moves. Strange, innit?" she said to him before slipping out of the Ward and

Work in the Janus Thickey Ward was dull. Most of the day, Malfoy spent it laying one of the vacant beds of the ward, reading _The Compendium of Healer Spells_ by Morgana le Fay. Whenever the Longbottoms began to make too much noise, he would have to go and play Exploding Snaps or Wizard Chess with them, no matter how difficult it was to do so, seeing as they didn't understand how to play.

There was a part of Draco that adored working on the first floor, because there was always something happening. It was action-packed and exciting, and that was one of the best things about his job. He could assume that Wendella had more excitement in her day than he did, since he had been stuck in a closed ward the entire day. Regardless of the relaxing day, he wished he wouldn't have to go back there.

Before Apparating out of work, Malfoy went to say goodbye to Wendella, who smiled and waved goodbye to the blond man.

It wasn't possible to Apparate from anywhere except the reception area, and so he went to the nearest staircase and descended the steps. When he came down to the ground floor, he walked quickly to the reception and, ignoring the WelcomeWitch's constant calling of his name, he turned on the spot. He hadn't had a specific destination in the front of his mind, but he seemed to be brought where he had wanted to regardless.

Draco stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, and went up to the bar, ordering himself a large bottle of firewhiskey. He paid for it and walked out to the back of the pub, where the dustbins lay.

The man pulled out his wand and tapped the proper brick. As he waited for the moment when the entrance to Diagon Alley would appear, he busied himself with unscrewing the lid of the bottle of firewhiskey, and once he opened it, the cap dropped to the floor.

Not bothering to pick it up, he took a large swig of the burning liquid and stepped onto the cobblestone streets.

Most of the shops had been restored in the past five years, and they had bright signs advertising their specialties. There were one or two stores still vacant, with boarded up windows and peeling 'Wanted' posters on the wood.

Regularly taking swigs from the bottle, he made his way toward Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and turned down the thin alleyway beside the shop. He walked up to the only door in the alley and raised his wand, silently removing the typicaly protective enchantments he had placed on his door. Once done, he turned the doorknob and entered, before closing the door and replacing all of the spells.

_'Wow, I'm really out of it today,' _he thought. It would have been much easier to simply Apparate straight into his apartment.

Berating himself at his stupidity, he began to climb the rickety wooden stairs that led up to his flat. The task proved to be more difficult that he would have thought, seeing as the firewhiskey was beginning to take effect. At one point halfway up the stairs, he tripped over the hem of his robes and fell forehead, smacking his head painfully on the following step.

"Fuck!" he cried in agony. He righted himself, grabbing onto the banister to help support him, and checked to see if his bottle had broken. "No cracks. Thank Merlin," he mumbled, continuing up the stairs, taking another large drink as a reward for when he reached the top.

He entered into the combined living room and dining room, and with his blurry vision, he looked around. His couches were ugly tartan, and the coffee table was full of cup stains. He had at least thirty copies of _The __Daily Prophet_ on his dining table, and he made a mental note to get rid of those. Eventually. There was a long hallway to his side, with three doors going off it, and at the end it held the kitchen. The doors led to his bedroom, the bathroom, and the spare room, which simply held all his junk.

He hadn't taken his mother's offer to buy him a nice flat in downtown London, nor had he let her buy him fancy furniture. When he had turned seventeen, he had opened his own private account at Gringotts so that he wouldn't be able to take his parents' money. But even then, his mother had found a way to deposit a substantial amount of galleons into his vault. It wasn't that he didn't like the luxuries that came with being rich, but he was his own person now, and he didn't want any reminders of the past to come with him.

Speaking of his family, the now drunk Malfoy shambled over to the dining table and sat down, putting his half-full bottle of firewhiskey on the table beside him. He had just remembered a letter he had received from his mother the night before, but hadn't been able to read because he had been too drunk. _'I should probably read it now before I finish off this bottle,'_ he thought wisely. It took a minute for him to locate the letter from all the newspapers, but he finally extracted it from the absolute bottom of the pile, and ripped open the envelope. Unfolding the paper, he sighed and began to read:

_Dear son,_

_I hope you are doing well, because we are all fine over here at the manour. The house elves are cooking up a storm, and it all tastes truly wonderful. You should stop by and come have dinner with your dear mother sometime soon. You never visit me anymore, and it gets lonely here._

_I am mostly writing to inform you that the Ministry of Magic has finally caught up with your father, and that he has been sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for his deeds from years past, and evading the Ministry for five years. I would have come and told you in person, but you are so busy with work. _

_I love you son, and I really do wish you would come and see me sometime soon._

_Mother_

Malfoy pursed his thin lips and crushed the paper as he balled his hands into fists. His father was the biggest prat that had ever lived, and the young man couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. When he had decided to move out and begin his career as a Healer, his father had been completely against it, and had gone to great lengths to prevent his only son from leaving. That man held no love in his heart for anything but his wife. And even saying that was pushing it.

He threw the crumpled into his empty fireplace, and grabbed his bottle, taking another quarter of the bottle into his body. Ten minutes after finishing the letter, his thoughts were becoming impossible jumbles of confusion and emotions.

Regardless of his inability to walk, he grabbed the neck of the bottle and stood, swaying on the spot. For a moment he contemplating sitting back down, but once his stomach grumbled from lack of food, he clumsily made his way down the hallway to the kitchen, walking sideways into the walls occasionally. He pulled out his wand and flicked it at the cupboards, and out came a tub of never-melting ice cream that Florean Fortescue had given him the week before. Draco took a spoon from a drawer and sat on the tile floor.

The drunk man had soon had his fill of ice cream and made his way back to the living room, pulling off his robes as he walked, so that he was naked save for a pair of loose boxers. Just as he fell onto the couch, thoughts of Hermione Granger bombarded him.

Why had she moved? She had been in a coma-like state for nearly five years, and he couldn't see why she had moved today of all days. Would she have moved if Draco hadn't been there? The logical answer was no, but after living the magical world his entire life, logic didn't necessarily point in the right direction. More often than not, it was the illogical answer that was correct. If that were the case here, then that meant that Hermione Granger, a useless Mudblood, had sensed his presence and that had caused her to move. Because Draco had been there.

His drunken mind couldn't comprehend what that could possibly mean, and in no longer than ten seconds, he had fallen into unconsciousness.


	4. Permanent Sigh

_**Hey everybooty! Winter break has just started, so for the past two weeks I've been piled high with homework and tests to study for. Hopefully since it's now the break, I'll have time to write more. I'm beginning to get super duper excited about this fic, I've got so many ideas and shtuff. Prepare for some eventual angst. :) I had fun with this chapter, no matter how much it frustrated me - I had no idea how to start the damn thing.**_

_**Enjoy it, and merry [insert appropriate holiday here].**_

A perfect silence hung in the apartment. It was as if all sound from the outside world had been muted. Never had there been a more perfect atmosphere in the house. The sounds of the early Muggle noise did not penetrate the walls of his house. The only thing that could possibly cut the perfect silence was...

An intensely loud groan came from the man laying on the couch. There was a _squeak_ that came when the man adjusted his position, moving the ancient couch in a way it did not like. An arm hung over the side of the couch, the fingers curling over the carpet. The sound of his heavy, even breathing was cut short as he began to wake.

His head ached as if he had just been knocked unconscious by a bludger and then beaten to near-death by a beater's bat. There was a fair bit of crusty drool on his chin, which he slowly reached up to his face to wipe away the dried saliva. Fuck, he did _not_ want to move.

With a deep breath, he raised himself into a sitting position, though he moved as if he were stuck in molasses.

After taking a long minute to evaluate what he could and could not do in his hungover state, he swung his legs off the couch so his bare feet touched the soft green carpet.

Draco stopped for a moment and tried to stand, but before he could do so, he leaned forward and vomited ice cream and firewhisky onto the carpet. The man stayed hunched over and vomited twice more before beginning to dry heave. It took another ten minutes before he became still and silent. Though there was now a large pile of sick on the floor, he felt much better than he had that morning, but light was still sensitive to his eyes, and his head still pounded.

Testing himself, Draco stood up suddenly and, taking care not to step in the bile, walked over to the dining room table where his wand lay. The man's long slender fingers wrapped around the base of the wand. He turned and pointed the tip of the magical instrument at the disgusting pile of vomit.

"_Tergeo,"_ he muttered, not looking as the vomit was siphoned off his carpet and disappeared.

Malfoy walked to his kitchen, intent on making a special little potion his father had taught him to make in his fifth year at Hogwarts: a hangover antidote. It would cure one of most the hangover sickness, though one would still have a slight headache. In the kitchen, he used his wand to gather the potion ingredients from the cupboard, starting a fire in an instant and beginning to boil a cauldron of water over the flames.

Still almost naked, the man began to brew his antidote, having it ready in twenty minutes. As he spooned out a large portion of the liquid into a tall glass, the flames shot his arms into great light. The faded branding of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still there, memories of his past mistakes flooded his foggy mind. He attempted to ignore the mark, but couldn't help his eyes from flickering to his left forearm until he had finished drinking the antidote and had his forearm out of sight and at his side.

On the mantelpiece stood a handsome grandfather clock he had inherited from his uncle, and Draco glanced at it before he was to leave the room. But the time the clock told stated that he had twenty minutes before he had to be at work.

In a rush of movement, Draco ran to his bathroom and showered quickly which always helped his hangover, even though he had already ingested the hangover antidote. Not to mention, he had gotten a bit of puke on himself. Once Malfoy had finished cleaning himself, he jumped out of the bathroom and hurried to his bedroom, throwing on a pair of borderline dirty Healer robes. After he had clothes on, he practically flew out of his apartment.

Out on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, the sun was beginning to turn a beautiful pale blue. It looked as if it would be another beautiful May day.

Disappointed that he wouldn't be able to bask in the sunny rays, he turned on the spot and vanished, only to appear in the reception area of St. Mungo's.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the Welcome Witch's voice, one that he did not register with his ginger-headed stalker. Thank god she wasn't working that day, Draco didn't know if he would be able to handle her, along with his dull headache.

"Draco!" a voice called. The man turned in the direction of the voice and saw the Welcome Witch beckoning him over. _'I swear to god if she wants a date with me, I'll hex her into the next century,'_ he thought moodily, walking over to her desk.

"Yes?" he asked, attempting to keep his mad mood out of his tone of voice.

"I have a note here from Cornelius saying that you have been permanently moved to Spell Damage on the fourth floor." she informed him. Despite his attempts to hide it, the man's scowled. "Oh, don't look at me like that - It turns out that Christina had visited her cousin on the second floor - had a bad head cold, and now she's got spattegroit." she explained quickly; a line was beginning to form behind Draco. "So now she's a patient here and you've got her job. On the plus side, your salary is raised three sickles."

Draco blinked at her. It was proving difficult for him to process the information he had just been given.

"Draco..." the Welcome Witch muttered. "You have to go. I've got a job to do, and you're stopping me from doing it."

The man blinked again, but nodded and made his way to the staircase he had used the day before.

As he ascended to his new, permanent post, he attempted to sort through the jumble of thoughts bouncing around his head.

He wasn't sure if he was happy or not. Yes, a raise was always a good thing, and there would certainly be days when Malfoy would enjoy not having to do much at work. But there was also a large part of him that wanted to find Cornellius and tell him that he most certainly would not work in Spell Damage. True, if he refused to work on the fourth floor there was a weighing chance that he might lose his job... And if he were being completely honest with himself, he would rather have a boring job than no job at all.

Too soon, he had reached the fourth floor. Wendella was waiting for him in the grand lobby area which was strewn with rickety old chairs.

"Hello dearie," she pipped, sending him a beaming smile. "Excited to start your work here? Officially, of course." Wendella giggled, and she began to walk, with Draco keeping stride beside her. There were two hallways that led from the lobby, each of them opposite each other. The pair of them went toward the same hall they had gone down to get to the Janus Thickey ward.

Malfoy remained silent. He didn't want to upset Wendella by being honest and telling her that he was extremely disappointed in the job change. Afraid his voice might betray him if he tried to speak, the man simply nodded curtly.

"Now," the witch began, twirling her wand idly between her short fingers. The blond wizard had a fleeting image from five years ago of a man with scarlet eyes and long pale fingers, doing the exact same moment. "You'll be taking care of this entire side of the floor, where it is all permanent residence wards or temporary residence. It's a little less exciting and action-packed than where people come in with never-ceasing dancing feet, or their bottom half turned into a desk." she laughed, sickly sweet, basking in her fond memories. The sound of her laughter made Draco's headache a little more prominent. "But it's still fun," Wendella assured the man. "Many of the patients that come through here are friendly.

"There is a filing cabinet in each ward. Each drawer is for each patient in the room. In a patient's drawer you will find instructions for how to take care of that specific patient, and also their approximate length of stay in St. Mungo's. Abrax from Creature-Induced Injuries on the first floor has informed me that you're a smart young fella, and you learn quickly." As the pair of them walked, Draco vaguely wondered how one person could talk so much. "So I won't be bothering you too often and you won't be botherin' me too often neither. If you do need me though, come running." Wendella laughed again. She was much too cheery for Malfoy's liking. "There are five wards in this hallway, with a capacity of six in each ward. None of the patients are allowed wands until they take their leave, so mind you keep yours in sight at all times. There are a few that would simply _adore_ a wand to play with."

Finally, they had reached the farthest door, the Paracelsus ward. Beside the door frame was a small silver plaque that read: _'This ward is sponsored by Ministry of Magic Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'**  
**_

Wendella unlocked the door with her wand and stepped into the room.

"This is a temporary residence ward," she informed him. After spotting the nervous expression that was creeping onto Malfoy's face, the witch patted him on the arm comfortingly. "Don't worry dearie, you'll do fine." She turned to leave, but hesitated for a moment, her brows knitting together in a frown.

"Oh. Right! I'll have to warn you that there will be some occasions in the future when you'll be called in off schedule. Hope that's alright." She seemed to be trying to make it seem more fun than it would ever be.

Daring to use his voice, he said, "No that's fine; it happened all the time when I was on the first floor with Abrax."

Wendella nodded and gave him a cheery wave goodbye.

The man stood by the door and spotted the filing cabinet that the plump witch had been speaking of. He approached it and opened the top drawer, which had been marked with the name 'Natalie Goldstein'. Pulling out a thick file, he perused its contents for a few minutes, reading the small notes that had been written over the sheets of paper. There was one particular note he enjoyed: _'Attempted to steal my wand right my pocket to repair her legs herself, the little bugger. - Christina"_

The wizard's laugh died away soon, and turned into a depressing sigh. _'Maybe it'll turn out to be a great job,'_ he told himself._ 'I've just got to give it a chance.'_

x x x x

Malfoy had been working in Spell Damage for nearly a month. Thankfully for the man's sanity, the job hadn't proved to be as boring and dull as he thought it would. In fact, he was truly beginning to enjoy the work. He met plenty of people, most of which were chatty and were dying to have a conversation with someone other than their fellow patients occupying their ward.

In the Janus Thickey ward, there was virtually no change in any of the patients: Alice and Frank Longbottom were as nutty as ever. Hermione Granger had moved her fingers twice more in the past three weeks, and only when Draco had been by her bed, either staring out the window or staring at the brunette. It had become a terrible habit of his to look at her as often as he could when he was in the ward. Never had he attempted to figure out why he was so drawn to her, because he was too frightened of what he might find out.

In the few weeks of him working on that floor, he had learned by heart all of the typical spells Wendella and Christina had used when they worked in that section of Spell Damage.

It was the end of June, and according to Wendella, recently graduated Hogwarts students were pouring into the lobby with a multitude of magical spell problems. She was explaining this to him during their ten minute lunch break.

"... It's because of all their celebrating, you know," she said serenely, munching on her tomato sandwich. Draco fondly remembered his celebrating of the completion of his magical schooling: most of it he had been too drunk to even know his name.

"At least we're not bored," he grinned, referring to the week where St Mungo's had been almost empty, which was most unusual for a hospital.

Wendella laughed and agreed with him. The pair of them finished their quick meal in silence, and went back to their opposite halls.

Malfoy made his way to Janus Thickey ward, poking his head into the wards that were on his way, simply looking in and doing a head count of his patients. Though he would never admit it to any of his friends, the blond wizard enjoyed the Janus Thickey ward the most, because there he was able to keep an eye on Granger, who he felt insanely responsible for, and he was able to easily entertain the Longbottoms. The reason he was on his way to that ward at that moment was to squeeze in a game of Exploding Snaps before he would have to go and re-administer potions to a handful of patients.

But when he unlocked the door to the ward and entered the room, there were voices talking in hushed tones. The screen was pulled around Granger's bed, blocking her visitors and patient from the entire room. Perhaps her parents had come unexpectedly to visit.

Malfoy quickly poked his head behind the curtains that hung to hide the Longbottoms from public view. Mr and Mrs Longbottom were snoring quietly on their beds, their features even more daunting in the serenity on their faces. The Healer left the two patients alone and quietly walked to the end of the ward, toward the young witch he took care of. Reaching out a pale hand, he grasped the edge of the screen and moved it aside to greet the Mudblood's visitors.

A handsome young man with untidy dark hair and glasses sat in a wooden chair, accompanied by a man with burning red hair and a large array of freckles on a concerned-looking visage.

"Hello there," Malfoy said politely, shocking the two men, obviously not having heard the man approach them. They both turned to look at the Healer, and as they all recognized each other, the blond wizard's greeting died on his lips.

Potter and the Weasel had come to visit their dear friend.


	5. Never Say Never

Ron stood up almost instantly, plunging his hand into his robes for his wand. Potter rose from his seat as well, but he did not reach for his pocket, though he was staring at Malfoy reproachfully.

"Careful, Weasley..." the Healer warned. "You don't want to do anything you'd regret." This was one of the positive aspects of having become a Healer: he had fortified his incantation arsenal, and if either of those two decided to curse him, they might not have faces by the end of their duel.

The redhead sneered at the blond, but slowly withdrew his hand from his robes. He knew better than to curse a Healer, which could get him in a lot of trouble with the Ministry.

"I also suggest you two sit down," Draco added. "There's no need to be so dramatic."

With a face of pure stone, Potter nodded and sat down on his chair, though the other did seem quite as eager to comply. The dark haired one pulled on his friend's robes to get him to sit back down.

"What are you doing here?" Weasley asked, his tone cold as ice.

"Training for the ballet." Malfoy replied sardonically. "Why the hell do you think? I work here." As he spoke, he pulled back the screen so he could view Granger and her visitors from almost anywhere in the room; he typically liked to be able to see his patients. "I'm a Healer," he added unhelpfully.

The blond turned his back on his two old classmates, walking over to a cupboard hanging on the wall opposite the brown-haired patient's bed. He pulled out a vial of violently purple nourishment potion for Granger. Once he shut the cupboard door, he moved back to the girl's bed and moved near the unconscious witch's head.

"Wait -" Weasley interjected, reaching across the bed as though to grab Mafloy's arm to stop him. From the raised eyebrow that the blond sent him though, he tracted his arm and leaned back in his chair, though he grabbed the witch's hand and held it firmly in his, as though to say "she's still mine."

"What's that potion?" the redhead asked, trying to keep out an accusatory tone.

"Nourishing potion," Malfoy replied curtly. "Given to her three times a day or else she would die from lack of nutrition." He pressed the rim of the vial to Granger's lips and tipped it up, letting the liquid pour into her slightly open mouth. He stood up to his fullest height and sent a cold look at the pair of visitors. "Seeing as, you know, she can't eat."

Without another word to the two men, the Healer walked back to the cupboard and placed the empty vial on a rack with other empties.

He then went to see the Longbottoms, who had awoken due to the talking from Weasley and Potter.

From a drawer in their adjoining bedside table, the man grabbed a deck of Exploding Snaps and sat on the floor, waiting for his insane companions to join him. They sat clumsily, flashing their knickers on countless occasions as they attempted to place their butts on the floor.

Even from where he was with the two patients, he could easily hear Granger's two visitors talking to each other.

"She's never going to wake up," came Weasley's voice. "Never," he croaked.

Potter's sigh was loud, and Draco could imagine him shake his head in anguish at their present situation.

"One day she'll be back to us," Harry said, though he sounded doubtful.

From where he sat on the floor, he heard their chairs squeak as they shifted their positions.

When Malfoy left the ward twenty minutes later, the pair of them were still by the brunette's bedside.

The blond went back to his duties, administering potions to those that needed them, or simply sitting on the edge of one their beds and having a chat with them. Once every hour he had to perform a trick charm on Natalie Goldstein's legs, which were slowly turning from solid wood and back to skin. Once it was all flesh again, she would need to be given Skelegro for two days before being let out of the hospital.

It marked how much Draco was beginning to love his job on the fourth floor, because every night when his shift ended, he would enter into each of the five wards he watched over and say farewell to each of his patients.

That night though, he did not feel too inclined to say goodbye to the Longbottoms and risk bumping into his ex-schoolmates. The two conscious patients in the Janus Thickey ward had become accustomed to seeing his face at that time every night, so despite his inner resistance, he entered the ward and stood in the doorway, listening hard for a sound of Potter or Weasley. Only silence met his ears.

With a sigh of relief, the fair-haired ma went and waved goodbye to the Longbottoms, who were sitting on the linoleum floor between their beds. The two grunted happily in reply, so he gave them both another wave before pulling their curtains around their beds: it was how the night shift liked it.

Malfoy then moved to Granger's bed and sat down on the uncomfortable mattress. The girl's audible breath was steady, and had a strange calming effect on the man; he had been quite unsettled by the unexpected visitation of his old bully victims.

Taken by a spur of the moment decision, Draco reached over and grabbed her left hand, just as Weasley had done a few hours ago. He silently marvelled in how warm and smooth it was. His hand held hers loosely, prepared to let go if someone were to enter the room and startle him.

His grey eyes locked onto her face, and as he gazed at her, trying to think of a spell that would put one in a coma like this, he felt Granger's hand twitch in his.

Eyes widening, he tentatively pulled out his wand with his free hand to begin casting spells to evaluate her condition, but hesitated. No, there was no need. He knew that she would not wake.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Granger." he whispered. The woman's hand twitched again, and he squeezed it reassuringly. "You're gonna be alright." he assured her.

_'What am I doing?!' _he thought incredulously. _'She can't even hear me.'_

Continuing to scold himself for his strange and rash decisions, he dropped the girl's hand, stood, and was about to turn away when something caught his attention.

On her left forearm was a mark, in the same semblance of Malfoy's. He stared at the scar, and remembered watching the girl writhe in pain as his aunt tortured her and took a silver blade to the girl's arm. He hadn't though that it would have scarred the way it did. 'Mudblood' was crudely written on her skin, the world shining white in bright contrast to her tanned skin.

_'So,'_ Malfoy thought, reaching over and running a finger across the scars, and then reaching up to touch his own forearm. _'We've both been branded, haven't we?'_ With that cynical thought, he turned away and made his way out of the ward.

"_Colloportus,_" he mumbled, pointing his wand at the door. Haunting memories from that day at Malfoy Manor were now seeping into his mind and attacking him. As he walked to the lobby, he felt a desperate wish to forget everything.

Wendella had already taken her leave, so a wizard by the name of Barry sat in the lobby booth instead. Draco waved to the man and left, heading down the stairs and into the much less crowded reception area. With a loud pop, he was gone.

The man appeared outside his door and took the usual minute to remove his wards, enter the house, and reapply them. He wished he could just have a Fidelius charm put on his flat, but Fortescue had adamantly denied it.

It wasn't even eight o'clock, and yet Malfoy felt more tired than he had all year; he barely had enough stamina left in himself to lift his feet and ascend the stairs.

Happily enough though, he did reach the top of the stairs, and though he was as sober as a pumpkin, he clumsily made his way to his bedroom and fell pell-mell onto his bed atop the covers, his Healer robes still on his body. He was asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.

Draco dreamed that he stood in the middle of his sitting room in Malfoy Manor, his wand pointed at a writhing and screaming girl on the ground: Granger. A spider the size of a car with the head of his aunt Bellatrix, whispered in his ear. Hermione then turned into Albus Dumbledore, who looked absolutely broken on the floor. And then it was no longer Dumbledore that he was torturing, but Severus Snape, who then turned into Harry Potter, who turned into his mother, who -

Something pressed itself again the real Malfoy, waking him from his ngithmare. Sweat made the man's robes cling tightly to his body.

An errie glow shone in the room, bathing the man in light. The source of his sudden wake was apparent: a frog Patronus sat on the edge of his bed.

"Yes?" the man's voice was rough with fatigue.

In the voice of Pittakus Rhy, a night-shift Healer that watched over Spell Damage, the frog spoke: "Come quickly, urgent. Will fill you in when you get here."

As the frog vanished, the blond man stood up and ran out of his flat and onto the streets of Diagon Aleey. The night sky told him that it was sometime around two o'clock in the morning.

He Apparated, and appeared in front of the Welcome Witch's desk. Not even bothering to check who the witch was, he hurried up to the fourth floor. His urgency was not misplaced - it was very possible that something life threatening was happening at that moment in his work space.

"What is it? What's happened?" Draco asked desperately as he burst into the fourth floor lobby.

Pittakus was tall and handsome, though his long auburn beard was off-putting. The tall man led the Malfoy to the Janus Thickey ward, where the door had been left ajar, a big no-no in St. Mungo's.

The screen was pulled around Granger's bed, but he could see shadows moving behind it and could hear voices float through the ward.

"_What_ is happening?" Draco hissed.

Ignoring him, Pittakus brougth him over to the end of the ward and disappeared behind the screen. The groggy blond hesitated, but marched behind the screen to follow his fellow Healer.

What he saw made him stop in his tracks. There were three Healers - including Pittakus - standing around the bed, hooking up tubes to the girl on the mattress, or muttering complex incantations. The most shocking of all was that Hermione Granger was not laying down in her bed unconscious, but was sitting up and looking around with wide brown eyes, completely fascinated by what was happening around her. She had finally woken up, after five years.

Malfoy grabbed Pittakus' arm and pulled him over.

"Explain." he said.

The bearded Healer struggled internally for a moment. "I was doing my rounds, you know, and when I came into the ward to give her the nourishment potion, her eyes popped open and she said 'Hello' to me." Pittakus glanced over at Hermione, who now had a cup of water in her hand and was drinking heavily through a straw.

"Of course I was completely shocked," he continued. "And then she spoke to me again. She said to me: 'Where's the pretty blond man I see a lot?' I put her unconscious, sent out a few Patronuses, and we got to work. She wanted to see you."

Malfoy frowned deeply, but cautiously moved forward to the patient in the bed.

"Hello Hermione," the blond said tentatively. Her proper name felt strange on his tongue, for he had spent the last twelve years of knowing her calling her a Mudblood or by her last name.

The girl's wide eyes turned to him, and a large smile spread across her face. She pointed to herself and nodded.

"That's me," she said with childlike innocence. Her voice was not unlike the one he had always heard, but it seemed a bit more womanly and mature. The voice did not match the word though, which sounded as if she was a mere infant.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked her, attempting an encouraging smile, though it turned to look more like a grimace.

Granger nodded fervently, hair bouncing wildly. "I've seen you before when I was sleeping. But it doesn't make sense..." Her eyes unfocused for a split second. "Who are you?"

Draco disregarded her question and instead asked one of his own. "Why did you wake up?"

The woman shrugged. "It felt like the right time to get up." She paused to drink more water. "Who are you?" she repeated.

The Healer frowned. "You don't know me?" he asked, glancing over at Pittakus, who was watching the pair of them converse with a look of determined concern.

"No...should I?" she replied. A sudden pained expression came across the patient's face, and she moved to clutch at the sides of head, dropping her cup of water and drenching her sheets. Her eyes were squeezed shut, lips pressed tightly together to form a thin line. She was making a noise deep in her throat, and Malfoy was sure that if her mouth had been open, she would be screaming.

The Healers knew not what to do, and just stood there, dumbfounded. After a long minute of Granger's torture, the pain seemed to stop. The woman placed her hands on the blanket, her mouth opened to let in breath, and her eyes shot open to look straight at Malfoy.

"No..." she mumbled, sounding much less like a child. Her eyes were not as protuberant as they had been earlier, but were almost closed and brimming with tears. "I can't seem to remember anything at all."


	6. Flightless Bird

By the clock on her bedside table, she could see it was nearly midnight. The Healer that was making his rounds had just come in to check on her, and she had pretended to be asleep. That man was typical, always asking her if she was okay and if she needed anything, telling her that everything was going to be alright.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her curly tendrils, then leeaned back against her pillow.

Her head throbbed dully; it had been doing that constantly since she had woken up. Sometimes the headaches were too painful to bear, and at other moments, she felt completely fine. In those moment, she would pull herself from her hospital bed and walk around the room, craving nothing but her freedom.

_'I've been awake for nearly five days,'_ she thought, _'and I can barely remember anything. All I've got to go on is what the Healers told me.' _Hermione was scolding herself - well, of course she was, seeing as it was in her nature.

No. She would not simply pity herself for not being able to remember. No, she would do something about it.

Laying in her bed, she slid her eyes closed and took heavy, even breaths. Once she felt herself as calm, she began to think of her life. As she perused her mind, trying to remember herself, Hermione's head began to pound steadily worse and worse. But it seemed to be working. A triumphant smile blazed across her face as an image appeared in her mind.

Under her closed lids she saw a dark forboding mansion with heavy wrought iron gates, but try as she might, she could not remember where she had seen this place. But the image was gone...only to be replaced by a lake, with a large expanse of the greenest grass, leading up to the most splendid castle. One word whispered through her mind: Hogwarts.

Eyes still closed, the brunette clenched her sheets tightly in her fists, trying to ignore her head pain. If felt as if someone was hitting her repeatedly with a mallet.

She continued to think of Hogwarts, to remember what it was, but she couldn't. The frustration from her lack of progress made large tears well up in her tightly shut eyes and roll down her cheeks. Finally after a quarter of an hour, her eyes snapped open and her breathing became pants, as if she had just run a mile.

The woman simply lay there, letting her sweat dry and her headache to subside into the usual dull throb.

_'At least I got something,'_ she reasoned with herself. With a hint of a smile, Hermione rolled over onto her side to peer out the window and let herself fall back into a light slumber, dreaming of the beautiful castle and the haunting mansion.

x x x x

When her eyes opened again in the morning, she expected the sun to be shining through her like usual, but she was heavily disappointed by the dark grey clouds and heavy rain to meet her eyes.

She groaned and lifted herself up into a half sitting position, leaning her head against the headboard of her bed.

She then remembered what had happened the night before, and a broad smile split across her face. It was at that moment that a Healer entered into the room, the one with the blond hair and the nice butt. Hermione hadn't been able to help herself from looking at it every chance that she got.

The two others in the ward apart from herself were grunting their hellos to the Healer as he brought them two trays laden with easily chewable hospital food for the pair of them. Because of their strangeness, she knew that the Healer had to supervise them eating lest they choke on a spoonful of pudding. All Hermione knew about the couple (from her constant questioning) was that they were married and that the both of them were insane. She had no idea what sort of people they had been, but regardless, the woman felt a pang of sympathy for them. No one deserves a fate like that.

Hermione had come to rely on time during her conscious days in the hospital already. She enjoyed marking how long it took her to go to the bathroom, or how long the Healer took to play with the insane patients of the ward, or how long it took them to eat. And so, exactly thirty three minutes later, the Healer appeared outside the curtains of the two patients and moved to the back of the room, and pulled out a tray of food from out of nowhere. She sat up a bit higher in her bed, excited to finally eat her breakfast.

The Healer approached her and placed the tray on her mobile table, which he moved to be placed right in front of her. She plunged right into her food, too hungry to care that the healthy hospital food was revolting.

"What's your name?" she asked the man between mouthfuls.

The man crossed his arms and gave her a reproachful look. "Why d'you want to know?"

The brunette took a large sip of pumpkin juice and looked up from her food, wondering if he was playing games with her. Finally, she shrugged, "Why not?"

The man grinned: he couldn't argue with that. "Draco Malfoy." he paused. "You used to just call me by my surname."

She stopped, frozen. Draco Malfoy swore loudly and pressed his thin lips together, making them practically disappear. It was clear to Hermione that he wasn't supposed to have done something like that.

"You knew me? Before?" she gasped.

Draco Malfoy shifted uncomfortably and stared at the bottom of his rather filthy robes. "Yes," he mumbled.

All food forgotten, Hermione sat up as straight as possible and gave him her complete attention. The blond glanced up at her, and he couldn't help but be reminded of how she used to act at school in class. Quick as a whip, his eyes were back on the floor.

"We uhm... we went to school together," he said, speaking to the ground. "Hogwarts, you know."

Her mind was whirling, and she let out a soft gasp. Last night she had remembered her school, where she had most likely spent a lot of time during her former years - unless she had been perhaps been a bad student and had skived off classes often.

"Hogwarts is a castle, yes?" she asked. "The most glorious castle one could ever set their eyes upon. It's got a... a bit lake and mountains in the background, with huge grounds with beautiful green grass. Is that it?"

Draco Malfoy's eyes rose to meet her now-lively brown ones, and he nodded slowly, suspicious. "How did you know that?" he whispered.

"I can try to remember things if I try hard enough," she dismissed his question quickly with a wave of her hand. "Tell me more about Hogwarts. What's it like there? How many years do you study there? Do we - do we use magic?" She spoke so fast that it was difficult for the other participant in the conversation to follow.

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his locks. "Seven years at Hogwarts. Your first year is when you're eleven. Yes, we learned magic; everyone at Hogwarts was magically gifted. You were the brightest witch of your age." he coughed and attempted to correct his mistake, feeling the awkwardness of the situation covering the two of them. "Are. You _are _the brightest witch of your age, once you remember.

"I'm sorry Granger, but I've got other patients to deal with right now. You've got visitors later today."

He moved forward and plucked the tray of cold, forgotten food from her lap, then strutted from the room. Hermione watched him go, getting a fleeting image of a dark room with a high ceiling and Draco Malfoy's face ablaze with torment.

She shook off the image and smiled to herself, thinking of Hogwarts. It was comforting to know that she had been intelligent when she had been at school, and that she had known that education was more important than anything. Especially boys. Had she ever had a boyfriend while she was at school? Did she have one now? A man that had stayed by her bedside for five years while she slept on. Maybe she had even dated Draco Malfoy. What sort of men was she interested in? The brutes? The sweethearts? The emotionally disturbed? The funny popular ones? Or perhaps she was a lesbian...

Hermione let out a bark of laughter, rewarding her with a few disgruntled grunts from the mad couple in the room.

_'No,' _she thought. _'I don't think I'd really fancy being a lesbian. At least, I think. How would I know the kind of person I was?'_

The rest of her morning passed by dully. She attempted to nap to rid herself of her continuous circle of thoughts, but it wouldn't work. Rather than sleep, she looked out her window and stared at the sky and the tops of buildings that she could see from her angle.

At quarter past one o'clock, the door opened and in came two men she had never seen before in her life.

One of the men was very tall and lanky, with fiery red hair and a round, pleasant face. He had fierce blue eyes and ginger haired stubble on his cheeks and chin.

The other man was slightly shorter than the first, and he wore glasses. Behind the wiry frames were the most beautiful green eyes Hermione had ever seen. He had untidy charcoal hair, and as he reached up to brush his bangs out of his eyes, the woman caught sight of a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Both men carried an unmarked large bag with them. The two men waved to the woman in her bed by the window, and made their way over. When they stood at the side of her bed, the redheaded man withdrew a wand and conjured up two chairs.

Hermione stared at the magic, fascinated. It was her first time seeing someone openly do magic in front of her, and it set her on edge - in a good way.

The black-haired man and the redhead sat down and smiled cautiously at the brunette.

"Hello," she said, rather annoyed with the constant silence.

Seeming more confident now that she had spoken, the redhead nodded and planted a grin on his thick lips. "Hello Hermione," he paused. "Do you happen to remember us?"

The woman stared at the two men. It had been obvious to her from the moment they walked in the room that she had never laid eyes upon them before that moment, but to spare their feelings, she screwed up her face in mock concentration and pretended to be attempting to remember them.

"No, I'm afraid I don't..." she mumbled, glancing from one to the other, anticipating their reactions. The two men's faces dropped and they looked quite disheartened. "I'm so sorry about it," she added, trying to cushion the blow.

"It's alright, 'Mione." This time the black-haired man spoke, who had a much more pleasing voice, in her opinion. "My name is Harry James Potter, and this is our friend Ron Bilius Weasley."

Hermione shot them both a tiny grin and leaned forward to shake each of their hands. "My name is Hermione, uhm - " she racked her brain for a moment, praying to remember her own name "- Jean Granger. Pleasure to meet you."

They agreed and attempted to strike up conversation, commenting on the weather and the like, but Hermione soon grew weary of their meaningless chatter and suddenly changed the subject when she got the opportunity.

"Yes, it's quite a sudden change in weather," she agreed. "But how do I know the both of you?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other for a moment, having a silent conversation. Harry then turned to look at the brunette and sighed. She thought back to only hours earlier when another supposed "stranger" had sighed and explained a few things to her.

"We're your best friends." he blurted. "We met at school when we were all eleven years old."

"You went to Hogwarts? We did?" The woman let out a breath of wonder and surprised herself by feeling tears stream down her cheeks. It was wonderful that she was finally learning things about herself.

"Yes," Ron replied, a little uncomfortable with her tears. However, Harry casually reached over and took the woman's hand and squeezed it gently.

With her free hand, Hermione wiped at her face, brushing away her tears. She then turned her eyes to the two men and took a deep, steady breath, imposing a sudden sense of seriousness into the atmosphere.

"So... if you're both my best friends, do you happen to know how I got this scar?" her voice was soft, tentative. To her if felt as if she were treading on needles. To indicate what scar she meant, she turned over her left arm, exposing the pearly white scar where 'mudblood' was crudely written.

It was met with great surprise on all three of their parts as Ron buried his face in his hands, tears dripping from his chin and falling silently on his knees.

When Harry spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "It's very complicated," he started. Hermione nodded and bit her tongue to stop her from telling him to hurry up and tell her. "Some years ago there was a war going on in the magical world, and three of us played a big part of it - on the good side," he hastily assured her. "But we were captured at one point, and you were tortured for information... That's when your skin was carved into."

Hermione found it simply impossible to process this information, taking deep breaths and squeezing tightly on Harry's hand. A war? _Torture?_ What else had happened? Had they won? Was the war still going on? And she had been a big part of it... Wow. His explanation had given her more questions than answers.

She opened her mouth to fire out another question, but Harry beat her to the punch. "We brought you some books... books about Hogwarts, about the war, about magical history. And about us. We hope they'll be able to answer some of your millions of questions." he sent her a sheepish grin.

Ron raised his head, and he pierced Hermione's chocolate eyes with his own bloodshot blue ones.

"You used to read all the time," he croacked.

Harry chuckled. "That's an understatement, mate."

For the sake of the two caring men in front of her, she cracked a hopeful smile and watched the two men rifle through one bag, searching for a particular book.

After a moment or two, Ron let out a soft "aha" and extracted a thick leather-bound book, and handed it to Hermione.

She studied it, noticing how worn the pages were, and how the spine had almost cracked in half. This book had been well-used.

"_Hogwarts: A History,_" she read aloud. A true smile broke out on her visage, and it seemed to bathe the entire room with warmth. "Thank you," she said earnestly, hugging the book to her chest._  
_

"These were mostly all your copies," Ron added, a smile playing on his lips as well. He was simply happy that she was happy. And alive. "There are a few new books we bought on our way over that cover the war that we were in, books that you could never get 'cause you were - uh, indisposed."

Their visit wasn't very long after that, and the rest of it was spent by Ron and Harry pulling out each book and letting their fragile friend inspect the pages.

Later that night as Hermione lay in bed, listening to the steady snoring of the only male patient in the room, a thought came to her. A thought that wasn't too joyful neither.

She was so broken, she realized. Her memory was most likely never going to return fully. All the people she had known during her years prior to her accident were getting the bad end of the stick. They would be forced to spend time with someone that would never remember their past together, while they would recall so many times before that they had been together. And for the time being, she was stuck in a hospital bed, relying on pages and words to tell her about life. It was as if she were a bird with two broken wings. Yes, eventually her wings will mend, but never fully, and she will certainly never be able to fly again.

_**So sorry this chapter took so long to post up. I had a major case of writer's block in the way. I had so much fun finally being able to write from Hermione's perspective :) Hope you guys enjoyed it. Here's hoping that the next chapter'll entertain some more.**_


	7. To Build A Home

The two of them stood outside of the building of Purge & Dowse Ltd., staring up at the sky. There was a feeling of melancholy and success in the air between the two men.

The shorter one of the two heaved a great sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"She doesn't seem too different," he said airily, perhaps attempting to hide his true emotions from his companion.

The taller one, Ron Weasley, nodded in agreement. "I suppose so," he concured half-heartedly. "I can't believe she's finally awake though, mate. Five bloody years we've been waiting, and finally..."

Harry Potter made a small inclination with his head. "Yeah, five years. Finally." he echoed his friend, and the two men stared off into the distance for a bit, lost in each of their own thoughts.

"Blimey, we should get going," Harry eventually said, snapping out of his reverie. He checked his watch and swore. "Ginny said she'd have dinner ready 'round this time. I hate leaving her all alone to deal with Teddy."

Ron nodded and the two men waited for the street to be clear, then they both turned on the spot and appeared on a Muggle London street with a loud pop.

It was usual for Ron to come and mooch meals off of Ginny and Harry, who were happily married for two years and owned a beautiful house in central London. Ron lived in a very cheap flat around the slums of Muggle London, and he always refused aid from his friends - except their food. He would never pass up a home-cooked meal of Ginny's.

From the front lawn, the two best friends walked forward and entered the house, barely even glancing at the bright and extravagant high-ceiling entryway.

As the two men busied themselves with taking off their coats and shoes, an excited squeal came from the heart of the house, and the patter of small feet soon followed. Teddy Lupin ran out from the living room and launched himself at Harry, who bent down to scoop the boy up in his arms.

"Hello handsome," Harry greeted him with a smile. After the war and Ted Tonks' death, Andromeda hadn't been in the right mindset to be able to care for her grandson, so he had passed into Harry and Ginny's care, since Harry was the boy's godfather.

It had been difficult for the pair of them, because at that point they had only been dating again for a few months and have just moved in with each other. But Ginny had splendidly risen to the role of being Teddy's step-in mother. Harry had tried his hardest to be at home to be there for Teddy, and for his girlfriend, but work at the Ministry had consumed him. It had only been a few months after the war, and Death Eaters were still being rounded up left, right, and center. Simply put, it had been a hard time for the pair of them.

With the child in his arms, Harry walked forward and continued through his lavish living room and into the kitchen.

He made his way over to Ginny quickly, who stood at the counter observing as a bowl of cake batter poured itself magically into a cake pan. With his free arm, the dark-haired man wrapped himself close to his wife and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hello beautiful," he greeted her. And she truly was, with her long straight bright red hair and vibrant eyes along with an exceedingly kind face.

"Evening sweetie," she replied, picking up the cake pan and crossing over to the oven.

She returned to Harry's side after placing the cake inside the oven, and kissed Teddy on the cheek.

"Happy that Daddy's home?" she asked him. The young boy smiled and screwed up his face in concentration. The young one's hair gradually changed colours and shape, and soon it was an exact replica of Harry's hair. The two parents took that as a "yes."

Teddy began to squirm in his godfather's arms, twisting and flailing his body in an attempt to return back to the ground.

Ginny sighed. "Teddy, we told you that if you want something, use your words."

Teddy froze and looked from his one parent to the other.

"Daddy can you pwease put me down?"

Harry chuckled and bent down to place the boy on his own feet. The man remembered the first time Teddy had called him "daddy"; he hadn't known what to do, because it felt as it Harry were spitting on Remus Lupin's grave by allowing his godson to call him that. It had sparked long discussions with Ginny that had lasted long into the night, until they finally decided to let Teddy believe they were his parents until he was old enough to handle the truth.

Ron came into the kitchen at that moment and was tackled by his best friend's mini look-a-like.

"Hey Teddy," the redhead smiled down at the boy. "Were you nice to Mommy today?" he asked him, crouching down to be on the same eye-level with the short one.

The child giggled and shook his head. The two older men looked to Ginny for some explanation.

"He used magic to break two lamps and he almost set the owl on fire," she declared disapprovingly. With a sigh,, though she was hiding a grin, the woman grabbed a large plate of spaghetti and carried it to the table, the men in her life following suite. The disjointed family sat down and began their dinner, though Teddy excused himself quickly to go watch Muggle television.

"So," the redhead woman said over a mouth of spaghetti, "how'd it go?"

They all chewed their food slowly, the silence stretching thin. Neither Harry nor Ron wished to begin the story of the depressing visitation to Hermione's bedside. As the quiet stretched on, the large window that overlooked the dining room shone light onto the threesome. After the dreary day of rain, just as it was about to go to bed, the sun was peeking through the clouds.

Finally, Ron sighed and put down his fork. "Awful, Gin," he heaved. "Simply awful. She couldn't remember anything about us."

"Did you give her the books? Did she take 'em?" the woman asked hopefully. It had been her idea to bring the girl her collection of books, the thought behind it being that it could stir some memories in Hermione's messed up mind.

Harry nodded and reached under the table to comfortingly squeeze his wife's thigh. "She did, surprisingly. I didn't think she'd want to have them, but I'm sure the Hermione we know is deep inside her and wants to figure out as much as possible as she can. And since she's stuck in a bed all day... Well, books seem like the only opinion." The jet-haired man paused for a moment to fish a piece of food out of his teeth with his tongue. "It was a brilliant idea, that was."

Silence fell once more, and they resumed eating, though the food had become room temperature. The rest of the meal passed with only the sound of chewing and the clanking of forks on plates. Afterward in the kitchen as the three of them cleaned up, Ron brought up the subject once more.

"At St. Mungo's, the weirdest plot twist happened," he said, glancing over at Harry. His friend had completely forgotten their strange encounter with their old school nemesis until that moment.

"Yeah, we did. We saw Malfoy at the hospital, and he works there now." Harry explained, throwing his hands into the water and soap filled sink to clean the dishes. The days that eventful things happened, he and his wife never used magic to clean, believing that clean up gave them time to talk.

"Draco Malfoy? He's a _healer?" _Ginny exclaimed, almost dropping the plate she held in her hands. "How is that even _possible?_"

Ron shrugged and leaned against the kitchen's island. "It's definitely him though, he takes care of 'Mione's ward. We saw him when we came to the floor, and he was there having lunch. Being his usual self, he was surly and a complete wanker, but he told us where to find 'Mione right away so we didn't have to talk for long."

"You're sure he's a _healer_ though?" she insisted.

Harry laughed at her disgust on the subject and nodded. "Yes, we're sure. He had the Healer robes and everything."

Again, the subject dropped between the three of them. The adults took their leave of the kitchen and went to join Teddy in the living room, who had fallen asleep watching a television show. Ron stooped and picked up the child, declaring that he would take the boy off to bed and then head off home, his excuse being that he had to get up early for work. But Harry was the only one who knew that the redheaded man was really going home to shag Lavender Brown, who had become quite friendly with Ron after Hermione had gone into her comatose state.

With Ron out of the room, Harry turned to his seemingly exhausted wife and pulled her close to him, pressing their chests against the other's. The man breathed in her scent, basking in it. She was gazing up at him, and soon emerald eyes met her chocolate ones, and they leaned toward each other for a passionate 'hello' kiss.

It had been a late dinner, and with Teddy being tucked in upstairs by his uncle, Harry and Ginny were free to go up to their bedroom and fall asleep as well. Hands intertwined, the pair of them walked from the living room and up their grand staircase to the upstairs landing, where they headed straight to their lavish bedroom.

As the two of them began to undress and pull out their pyjamas from drawers, Ginny stopped and turned to Harry, exposed in only her bra and underwear.

"Harry, I'm worried about Hermione." she said bluntly, placing her hands on her hips. Her husband knew that she meant business at that gesture.

He crossed the room and comfortingly rubbed her arms. "We can't do much about it, Gin. She's stuck like this until the Healers find a cure or she remembers us naturally."

Ginny stepped out of Harry's reach and began to pace the room, her brow creasing in thought. "What about her parents?" she asked finally.

Harry stopped. "Wha - what about them?" Boy, was he confused. What did the addle-brained woman's parents have to do with this?

The redhead made an exasperated noise with her noise and glared at her husband until her pacing forced her to turn her back on him. "What if she remembers about her parents and wants to see them, but doesn't remember that _they're in Australia without the knowledge that they have a daughter?_"

That pulled Harry up short. He shook his head and subconsciously began to pace like his wife, though taking a route to bring him to the other end of the bedroom. Though the both of them were exhausted beyond reason, they persevered through their fatigue and simply walked and thought.

After nearly an hour of this, the sky outside having become the blackest it would be that night, they stopped and each let themselves sigh.

"Fuck," Harry summed up finally.

Ginny nodded and ran a hand through her flaming locks, shaking her head. "Talk to some friends about it at work tomorrow, maybe. I don't know." she took a deep breath and moved over to her long forgotten pyjamas, which laid on their bed, waiting to be worn. "All I know is that I'm bloody tired of walking around in only my undergarments."

Harry laughed and watched his wife change, then shrugged. "I dunno, I didn't mind." he muttered slyly.

It was Ginny's turn to chuckle as she slid under her sheets and turned on her side, clutching the blanket close to her chest and adjusting her neck so that it fit into the perfect crevice she had created that week. Harry, in his thin summer sleeping attire, climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping an arm around her figure, trying to rid himself of the picture of Hermione laying in the bed with a blank expression on her face as her two best friends entered the room.

_**Short and sweet. I wanted to shed a bit of light on what happened after the war ended, since it's a little difficult to do when Hermione can't remember anything from the past five years. I'm sorry I'm such an ass with posting chapters. But I love you all for sticking through :) Hope you enjoyed it.**_


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